Still I Can't Be Still
by Sara11
Summary: Post 'Not Fade Away'. Buffy lives in Rome, Spike comes to deliever news. Buffy's world suddenly becomes quite a beautiful mess. It may sound old hat, but I can swing it. : SpikeBuffy centric. Chapter 4 up!
1. Momentarily Satisfied

Still I Can't Be Still

Summary: Takes place after 'Not Fade Away'. Spike travels to Rome to deliver news to an unsuspecting and unresolved Buffy, whose life isn't exactly the way that she wants it to be. It sounds so vague, but I can't say too much or it will give away major plot points that I have planned! It also may seem a little late and a little cliché, but hopefully I'll be able to work it out. Most definitely a Spike/Buffy fic. If you liked my other, much much older work, then I think you'll enjoy this. ;)

Disclaimer: Oh please, like I own any of this. Oh, and the title was taken from a song by the **amazing **Idina Menzel.

She lived in Rome. She had a guy, Spencer, a.k.a 'The Immortal". Dawn was happy. She, Dawn, was getting a great education and meeting as many European boys a possible. Her friends were scattered across the world, but she knew they were happy.

So she was happy.

Or content.

Momentarily satisfied? Yeah, that sounds about right. So life was—

"Good. Life is good." Buffy told Willow via her crisp and clear cell phone connection. More bars in more places, just as long as said places are anywhere outside away from trees and large groups of people, any Starbucks on the entire western hemisphere, the third stall in the bathroom at a small, conveniently located and not to mention delicious little deli down the street, and her comfy cushy chair in the corner of her small, quaint little bedroom that resided in her Roman countryside inspired apartment.

"Rome is great, Spencer's great, Dawn's great, my apartment's great, my shoe closet where all my shoes live is great, my shoes are great..."

"And life is only good?" Willow questioned.

"Okay, I admit it sounds a little strange. That I have all this slayer-burden free wonderfulness and I'm still pouty, hoping-for-better Buffy. I just—there's like this void. I can't help but think that something is missing." Buffy replied.

"Something? Like a someone something? Cause if it's a someone something situation then Buffy…"

"I know, Will. I just—I can't go there right now. It's too 'yeeheem' to think about any sort of someone something situation."

"I've seen your 'yeeheem' and I fold. The situation is now on hold." Willow informed Buffy, who sat silently on the other end of the conversation. "Oh, I didn't feel like doing the alliteration thing. I think we killed it." Willow joked.

Buffy smiled. "Right. Well, I think I just may have killed my finances with this eternal phone call so I need to say goodbye before I have to take out a second mortgage."

"Alright, Buff."

"Give Kennedy my best." Buffy told Willow.

"I will. Bye." Willow replied.

Buffy said her goodbye and snapped her phone shut. She looked at the clock and grimaced. It was 7:30 P.M. Spencer would be over in a half hour. It's not that she didn't want to see him, it's just that she didn't look forward to seeing him. …

…Maybe she didn't want to see him.

Buffy sighed as she lifted herself off of her comfy cushy chair and headed toward her closet. She mindlessly shuffled through skirts, shirts, and shoes rejecting one after the other.

"Maybe it'll be Sunnydale sheik tonight." She said to herself as she made her way through a jungle of Prada and Gucci, courtesy of her new beau, to the back of her closet.

"Simple and sophisticated," she said eyeing her choices, "ooh, and cute." She smiled as she pulled out what used to be her favorite lace halter.

"Oh grumble," she muttered as she fumbled with a catastrophic mess of tangled hangers, "no wire hangers ever—words to live by." She sighed. "How and why did I even—"

She freed her halter, but her thoughts stalled when a small black tee fell to the floor at her feet. She hesitated, but bent to a squat and gently cradled the shirt in her hands. She slowly ran her fingers over the rough collar and twirled some loose threads around her index. The ever slightest scent of cigarettes and musk danced around her nostrils, and she unwillingly inhaled. Her heart skipped. Her breathing calmed. She blinked hard and gently bit her bottom lip.

She started to slowly smile as she remembered. Him. The intensity of his eyes, the callous of his fingertips. Him. The cold of his body, the warmth of his arms. Him.

Her muscles relaxed as she eased into the thought of him. She sat back against a wall and draped the shirt over her knee. She fought back tears and willed the corners of her mouth to form a smile again. She knew that this had been—

"Gahh! Mother of…" Buffy jumped as a ferocious clap of thunder momentarily sent her heart racing.

She breathed heavy. "Not fair. "

She panted. "Sure, I can sense when somebody is holding an axe over my head or when the world is about to end, but when it comes to mother nature the slayer gets zip. Huoh, somebody should tell the powers that be that they have a sick sense of humor."

She shook her head and gently placed the shirt in an empty box in the corner of her closet. Her fingers lingered on the center of the shirt before she turned away and placed a lid over the garment.

Buffy heavily exhaled as she stood up and headed out toward her kitchen. She needed a glass of water. She made her way through the main room and passed her front door.

"God!" Buffy jumped again as there was a knock on the door. "0 for 2." She said to herself.

She continued on to the kitchen. "Spencer, I swear to god. " She said as she filled a glass almost to the rim. She stood over her sink for a moment, then slowly made her way back to the door.

"That whole 'better to be early than late' thing is a real load of bullshit. Sure it used to be cute, but now I just want to punch you in the face." She said as she began to open the door.

"And why are you even," she stopped when she noticed a clunky pair of scuffed black boots standing directly across from her own flip-flopped feet, "nice shoes Spence." She smiled.

"Tell me, was I ever going to find out that you were a founding member of 'The Cure' fanclub? Because I gotta say that I—"

Her breath caught as she met with his eyes. **His** eyes. She focused on the piercing, arctic blue orbs that stood before her. Him. She couldn't look away.

Him.

"What?" She whispered. She breathed heavily and tried to form words, but all that fell from her lips was utter confusion. "Hhh… wha…"

She slowly brought her hand from her side. It seemed to float in the air as she tried to rest her palm on his cheek.

Her fingertips were almost there. She could almost feel him.

She readied herself.

She whispered as her hand still danced through the heavy air, "Spi—"

The power blows.

Eek. Please leave feedback and tell me what you think. Should I continue? It's been a while since I've fanfic-ed it, so please let me know! I've put the second part up just in case there are some undecideds. But please let me know what you think!


	2. So Disenchanted

So Disenchanted

Disclaimer: Sigh, none of this belongs to me. Like I needed another reminder of how sad it is **not** be Joss Whedon... what? ...

Buffy pulled her hand back. She panted frantically as she tried to let her eyes focus in the dark.

She had to know.

She squinted, and then closed her eyes hard. She stretched her arm and let her hand flutter in the air, her fingertips caressing the space around her, until they came across a resting place. She grazed the pads of her fingers against his cold and silky skin, letting her accompanying digits trace the contours of his jaw. Her thumb traced the soft tissue beneath his eyes, and traveled down to stroke the smooth gradient of his distinguished lips.

She felt his breath dance slightly against her palm, soothing the faintest of sweat that had formed. She opened her eyes and instantly met his salient gaze.

"Oh my god." The fragile whisper escaped her lips without resonance. She couldn't swallow, she couldn't breath. She couldn't feel her limbs and her heartbeat was all she could hear. It overpowered her senses and her mind became blank.

She hadn't even noticed the deafening silence that swarmed the hall. It was thumping, pounding. Her heart was all she heard.

"Buffy…" His thick, sinuous voice broke the silence, a painful awakening to her incapacitated senses.

"Oh my god." She repeated, this time with more strength, more comprehension. Her eyes stung from the overwhelming puddle of tears that she refused to let fall. Even though she couldn't make him out, she felt his gaze. She felt him looking her up and down, examining her demeanor, her figure, her presence.

"Are you alrig—"

"Spike." She stated. Her eyes met with his again, that shimmer of blue she could make out in the dark.

"You're here?" She question, exasperated. "How… I mean… wh…" Buffy trailed off as she snapped herself out of a desperate trance and looked around.

"It's dark." She stated, still confused, still dazed, but growing more lucid.

"Right," Spike whispered cautiously, "I need to—"

Buffy heard him stop speaking as she turned her back toward him and slowly, breathlessly made her way through her apartment. Her mind raced and she couldn't make out one thought. Her mind raced and she wanted it to stop. She wanted this to end.

God, where is the kitchen? How long does it take to get to the kitchen?

She stumbled past end tables and bulky furniture.

Why is it so dark? Why is the fucking kitchen so far away? Who built this goddamned place? Why is the power out? It's not even—when did it start raining? Where the hell is the kitchen?

She grew frustrated and her breathing became jagged. She felt the room spinning around her and she needed it to stop. She needed to rest. She needed water.

She had water.

She looked down at her left hand and laughed nervously at the sight of a half empty glass. She brought it to her lips as she slowly continued walking. She felt the water pass through her lips, over her tongue, and down her dry, cotton lined throat.

It wasn't helping. Her mind wouldn't shut up and the room wouldn't stop spinning. She made her way toward the couch and recklessly collapsed into it's cushions, shattering the glass of water as it slipped from her grasp. Her body tingled and her senses were suddenly muffled. She closed her eyes and let her head fall limp to her chest.

"Buffy? … Buffy!"

The accented words echoed in the background, and she smiled slightly as the room faded and she let herself slip away.

Okay, so should I continue? Please let me know what you think!


	3. Spinning from Mercy

Chapter3: Spinning From Mercy

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. So, so sadly.

**---**

"…uffy… Buffy?"

The stifled words stirred her senses. She grimaced as she came to. Buffy slowly opened her eyes, quickly relapsing into a tight squint when her gaze was met with small burst of light scattered throughout her apartment. She forced them open and allowed herself to adjust to the dim glow surrounding her.

She moved her hand from her side to her forehead, where she came in contact with the roughness of a cold and damp washcloth. She smiled to herself.

"Is that the best you can do?" She asked softly, rolling her head slightly to the side and making eye contact with the figure watching over her.

He smiled, "I'm not exactly wise to the world of medicine, pet."

His words were drenched in relief. They coursed through her, piercing her mind and her soul, wilting all of her strength and warming the dankest places of her heart.

It was bizarre.

She easily sat up to meet his height. She drew her eyes up to his and sighed. "Thank you."

She looked around the room, "You lit candles?"

"Well, yeah. Needed some sort of light, the power being out and everything." He responded.

"Right." She said awkwardly. "I, I didn't even know we had this many candles."

"Andrew." He told her.

"Ah, of course." She gently smiled. She put her hands on her knees, breathed in deeply, and pushed herself up. She made her way over to the window and slowly pushed aside the sheer curtains.

"Looks like most of the block is out. Or, at least I'm assuming. It's dark as far as I can see, so…"

"Buffy." Spike stated seriously.

She turned around to face him. She didn't know what he was going to say, and she didn't want to know. Chances of it being something good were slim to none.

"Buffy, I need to talk to you." He told her.

"You're sitting on my coffee table." She replied as she moved towards him.

"There's something I need to tell you." He continued, ignoring her attempt to change the subject.

"That's a very expensive coffee table." She warned, as she came closer to him.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, "I'm serious."

"So am I." She said sternly. "Get off my coffee table." She was annoyed. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. She couldn't' hear what he had to say.

"Buffy." He said firmly.

"No!" She snapped. She stood in front of him, looking down to where he was sitting. She followed his eyes as he stood up, letting himself tower slightly over her.

The space between the couch and the coffee table suddenly seemed too small. Their bodies were close and she felt herself begin to faulter. She kept his gaze as slight tears formed in her eyes.

"No." She stated again, this time gentler, more vulnerable. "I can't." She whispered.

"I can't." She repeated as she ripped her eyes from his. She swiftly removed herself from between the couch and the vampire, and headed into the open space of the apartment.

"I can't hear what you have to say." She said as she paced. "You show up here after... you show up here and you expect what from me?" She asked defensively.

Spike sighed, "Buffy, I don't want—"

"You expect me to listen to you? Gee, what could it possibly be that you have to say? It is maybe, 'Guess what? I'm alive! Oops! Sorry.'" She asked in a defensive ramble. "Well, maybe not that last part," she continued, "because I've gotta say that I'm kinda tired of all your 'sorries'. As a matter of fact, I think you've used up all your 'sorries' with me."

"So please, tell me." She pleaded sarcastically. "What is it exactly that you want from me?" She finished and she stared at him coldly, waiting for a response. She crossed her arms in front of her when she received not even a syllable, and she raised her eyebrows in frustration.

Spike clamped his jaw and took a deep breath in, trying to maintain his composure. "I need to tell you something." He said, exasperated.

"Broken record much? I heard that part." She said frigidly.

"Buffy, I think it'd be best if you sat down."

"Don't," she put her hand up, "don't try to tell me what you think is best."

"Okay, you're mad. I get that. But—"

"I'm mad?" She asked harshly. She let out a small, angry chuckle. "Fuck you." She stared at him. "Like you know what I feel right now."

Spike paused.

"Look, I didn't come here to fight." He told her.

"Oh, I believe that." She laughed sardonically, turning her back to him.

Spike stopped and looked at her hard. He slowly inhaled, "and I didn't come here to chase after you, either." He said delicately.

Buffy internally flinched as she heard the words. She forced back tears and whipped around to face him. She opened her mouth to reply, but found no words. She exhaled, bit her bottom lip, and did what she had always done best—turned her pain into anger.

"I'm ready now. Tell me what you need to tell me. And make it fast because I—"

"It's about Angel." He cut her off. She uncrossed her arms and let them rest at her sides.

"What? Angel?" She asked, confused and concerned. "What could you possibly have to—"

"The reason… where I was for… I was in L.A." He started to explain. "When I came back… it was to L.A. I don't know everything about why and about how," he continued, "but, after a while, I began working with Angel."

"You… were working with …Angel?" Buffy asked skeptically.

"Well not by choice." He scoffed.

"No?" She replied wryly.

"No." He answered defensively. "Well, yeah. Or… no." He paused to regroup.

"It's complicated." He told her.

"I'll bet." She threw back.

"Buffy!" He snapped. "Just listen to me." He said gently.

Her face softened and she realized that he really did need to tell her something. She nodded and sat in a small, country rocking chair that decorated one of the corners of the room.

"Thank you." He said. "There was a situation. End of the world and all that. Bad. Not dig into the hellmouth bad, but it was definitely a job."

Buffy listened intently as Spike gave the details of Wolfram & Hart's ugly encounter with an even uglier apocalypse. She listened to the details and knew where he was going with it. She knew what he was going to tell her.

"…and I was right there in it. Both of us, side by side. But, Buffy—"

"Spike." She silenced him. "I know what you're gonna tell me."

"I don't think—"

"It's Angel. It's about Angel, right?" She questioned. He nodded in conformation. "Then I already know."

Spike furrowed his brow in confusion and pursed his lips, he gently let them part and was about to speak once more when Buffy stepped in.

Without any hesitation, she somberly stated, "You're going to tell me that Angel is dead."

---

Don't get mad. Or, get mad but keep reading. I'll explain, I'll explain. I didn't kill him because I hate him, okay?

Thanks for the reviews last time, I enjoyed them! Please keep them coming! 


	4. Sillohuete

**_As Your Silhouette Turns Its Back on My Spoon…_**

**_Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. So sad…_**

**_A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. There was a crisis situation here at home. But everything is good now so here is the latest update!_**

**_Thanks to all who've commented and thanks to all those reading! You guys rock!_**

"Angel is gone. …Dead." Buffy softly whispered. "He was killed." She reluctantly stated.

"Buffy… how did you…" Spike was astonished.

Buffy shut her eyes hard. "Uh…" She hated to think about it. "Um, a wicca… a seer o-or something from Willow's wicca group… she told Willow and Willow told me." She inhaled slowly. She pursed her lips and let her brow drop slightly, softening her tense features.

"Conveniently left out the part about you, though." She looked up and then away, crossing her arms in front of her. "Wonder if Willow knew…God I can't… you were there?" Buffy asked, confusion littering her face.

"Slayer, this isn't about—," he paused and looked at her, "Are you alright?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"Why didn't you die?" She asked. She looked at him and read the perplexity in his eyes. "I mean, if it was as big and bad and world end-y as you and the oh-so-wise except not really because I tend to look over big blocks of details wicca have said, then why was it only him? …Why was it only Angel?" Buffy asked, as she moved and sat back on the sofa, her elbows resting on her thighs, her hands clasped at her knees.

"Because that's all they wanted. They only wanted Angel. I don't know the 'who's' and 'what's' of it, pet, but I do know that it all ended… after he was gone." He sighed and sat across from her on the coffee table. "It's like they got what they needed and took off. Bunch 'a poofters. Right bloody embarrassing if you ask me." Spike smiled slightly as he tried to lighten the mood.

He shook his head to the side and sharply exhaled. "Look. I know that I was never… I've never been kind on the subject of Angel. 'Specially when it came to the two of you." He lowered his head to meet her eyes and she deflected his gaze.

"But I know, luv, that this isn't easy. When somebody's a part of your life like that and then… then they're not." She caught his gaze and his voice softened, "I remember when it was you…" he trailed off.

Buffy looked down at her thumbs and traced the contours of them with her eyes. Her fingertips were cold and her stomach was spinning inside of her. Her eyes stung as she battled to keep waves of tears from flooding past her lids. Her lower lip quivered as it separated from the upper, and her voice gently cracked as she began to speak.

"I've thought about it a lot." She broke the silence. "I've cried, and I've hit things, killed things, broke things, and I've cried even more. And then I thought about it again." She paused and looked up at Spike.

"There will always be a part of me that loves Angel. Always. But he and I…," she sighed, "…we were together, and then he was evil, and then he died. He came back and we broke up. He moved to his city I stayed in mine. I was with Riley, he was with Darla, my sister was a key, my mother died and then I died. I came back and he had a kid and I was with you and then I wasn't and then we were confusing and then…" She smiled slightly.

"Angel and I have been so many different people since we were together. We grew up, and we grew apart. That's what happens. The last time I saw him I don't even think we knew each other all that well. But I still loved him. And yeah, it hurts. It's a world of hurt to know that that love will never… that he and I will never …be …again."

She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair before bringing her hands down to rest once again in her lap. She tilted her head slightly and shrugged her shoulders, "But I've dealt with that before." She stated with a slightly teasing grin.

Spike looked at her with wonderment. He'd never understand how she could always be so strong. He knew the pain that she was in, he'd experienced it when she herself was ripped from the world. His word came crashing down around him and everyday his heart weighed heavy and he felt suffocated. Every part of his being became cold and he was hollow, bruised and beaten on the inside. Nothing was ever clear, nothing ever made sense. Days were just chunks of time that she wasn't there. Nothing mattered.

He didn't see that in her, though. Her eyes were bright and her stature was strong, her voice was calm and nothing about her seemed at all empty. He watched her begin to lower her head and he caught her chin with the tips of his fingers, bringing her eyes to his. He let his fingers linger on her skin for a moment as he spoke gently.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He watched her hand move slowly up to his and he felt the cold of her chin disappear as her warm hand slowly wrapped around his. She squeezed tightly and smiled sweetly.

"I'm sure." She said before releasing her grasp and letting both their hands float back to their own person. "I'm alright, really." She nodded lightly and he followed in suit.

"Right." He said lightly.

Moments passed and the two grew awkward and quiet. Neither one knew what to say.

Spike cleared his throat and spoke again, louder and with more confidence, "Right, well," he pushed himself up and began to make his way across the apartment, "I should bugger off then. Don't want to … I should just go."

"Okay, well, um… thank you." She said uncomfortably, following behind him as he made his way to the door. "For coming to… well, for…"

"Got it." He swiftly reassured her.

It was tense. He was tense, she was tense. Everything, everyone, and all of Rome at this very moment were tense.

Spike opened the door and walked out into the hall only to be stopped by her calling his name.

"Spike wait." She said.

He turned and faced her. Her one arm relaxed on the door frame, the other lingered comfortably in the air as her hand disappeared into her back pocket.

"We need… we need to talk. Not right now or… but we need to talk. I mean, the way we left things I just think—"

Spike sighed. "Don't worry about it, Slayer. S'alright. I'm not holdin' you to anything… it was just," he paused and took in the silence for a second, "don't worry about it." He repeated.

Buffy fought to keep the confusion from spreading across her face. She felt her mood change as anger, sadness, fear, and vulnerability pumped through her fiercely and at an insurmountable level. She pursed her lips and moved her arms to let her hands rest on both her hips.

"Ok, fine." She said, detached from any sort of feeling. "But I still think we need to talk."

Spike titled his head and watched hints of various emotions play out on her face. "Right…" He said slowly and skeptically.

"Good." She said, trying to sound unaffected. It was silent for a minute before she spoke, "So, am I just supposed to guess where you're staying or what?" She asked dryly.

"Right, um, just… just get my information from little boy Andy. I'm sure he's—"

"Andrew?" Buffy asked. "Whaaum, uh, what? Why would—"

"Like you said, we'll talk." Spike said before taking off down the corridor and disappearing down the stairs.

"Oh ok." Buffy said softly, still standing in the doorway.

She turned and walked into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She stood for a short second before throwing her back against the door and sliding to the floor. She sat there for a few moments, her palms flat on the floor and her eyes wide. She blinked slowly and let out an all encompassing sigh.

"I need a drink."

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